


Season 11: The Mickey and Ian Story

by J_Q



Series: The Mickey and Ian Story [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Season/Series 11, all shameless warnings apply
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27945629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Q/pseuds/J_Q
Summary: This is a continuation from the season 10 fic that I finished yesterday. It picks up after their wedding night, and chapter one fills in a few gaps prior to episode 1 of season 11. I don't know how many chapters it will be, but any plot holes that are keeping me up at night during s11 will find there way into this story.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: The Mickey and Ian Story [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046503
Comments: 40
Kudos: 92





	Season 11: The Mickey and Ian Story

**Author's Note:**

> Miss me? 
> 
> hahaha...not even a 24 hour break, damn it. But I feel much better about the first episode now that I've sorted it out in my head. Perhaps this will give you some peace of mind too. ;0

**Here’s what you missed on Season 10 of shameless…**

“Do you think it’s a bad sign that the first thing we did as husbands was go to the cop shop?” Ian tapped the steering wheel in agitation as the Mercedes slowed to stop at an intersection. “And fucking _lied_ to them about not knowing who shot up the motel room this morning.”

Mickey ignored him, more focused on clenching his ass cheeks to relieve some of the irritation. Sitting was going to be a problem today and that was a bigger concern than whatever the fuck Terry was up to.

“It's fine. No way that motherfucker is coming anywhere near your place,” he grunted, shifting onto one hip. “Whole neighborhood would know who shot it up.”

“Still think we shoulda told the cops it was him,” Ian bitched. Mickey was thinking maybe it was a bad sign since Ian hadn’t shut up all morning about ratting Terry out to the cops, and it was adding to the pain in Mickey’s ass.

“Look,” Mickey snatched the pack of smokes off the dash and frowned when he discovered it was the last stick. “I know my family, okay? It might be fucked up from your fucking rainbow and unicorn Gallagher point of view, but a Milkovich _can_ kill another Milkovich. A Milkovich can _not_ snitch on a Milkovich. Don’t fucking matter what he does. If you got a beef then murder is your only option. Tried to fucking tell you that all day yesterday but did you listen? Course fucking not.”

“Jesus,” Ian muttered, flicking the signal light indicator and getting all pissy when it didn’t work the first time.

“Unless you want my whole fucked up clan to come down on your ass, leave it the hell alone.”

“Speaking of ass,” Ian glanced at him. “You’re squirming in that seat like a five year old who got into his Halloween candy.”

Mickey cranked the window a little so he could flick ash, shivering at the cool breeze. “Wouldn’t fucking know. Terry ate my candy, remember?”

Ian squeezed his knee and Mickey squirmed again. “Fuck, we really did a number on you, huh?”

“Guess.” Inhaling, he reviewed exactly how many times and ways Ian’s dick had been his ass over the last 12 hours. “Think it’s that stupid fucking herbal lube or whatever the fuck. My ass hates it.”

“Really? Okay, I’ll get some new stuff.”

“You do that,” he grumped as the Gallagher house came into view. “And don’t waste fucking money we don’t got on fancy shit. My ass likes it plain and simple.”

Ian gave him one of his stubborn looks as he pulled the car up to the curb. “I’m sure we got a tub of mayo in the fridge. Might even be no name brand, right up your alley.”

“Really cool, Ian. Making fun of me in my time of need.” He tugged on the door handle, but Ian’s giant paw clamped onto his thigh again. “What?”

The stubborn Ian face had been replaced by the sappy Ian face, and Mickey leaned toward him, wincing slightly at the movement. After a 30 second tongue battle, Ian pulled away. “Want me to carry you over the threshold?”

“Yes.”

Eyes wide and mouth hanging open, Ian scoffed. “Liar! What’s the punchline?”

Mickey punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t ask me stupid questions. But you can make me breakfast. Starving.”

“I can do that.” They met at the gate, Mickey holding it open. “You want eggs and toast?”

“Whatever.”

Leaving Ian to hear all about Peppermint Patty’s arrest, Mickey headed upstairs and after soaking his ass in the tub for a bit, changed into his new housecoat just as Ian arrived with his plate of scrambled eggs and toast with peanut butter. 

“Thanks, wife.”

“Good thing I’m so fucking in love with you that I’m blind to all your faults,” Ian said, sorting through all the wrapped wedding gifts on their bed.

“Ditto.”

Mickey adjusted the pillows so he could recline next to all their wedding presents that someone had moved from the Polish Doll to their bedroom. Figuring he’d buy a case of beer for whoever pulled that off, he spread his legs to air out his nether regions, and his housecoat fell open.

“Jesus,” Ian hissed. “Kids in the house.”

As he shut the folding door, Mickey snickered and scooped up some eggs. “Looks like we got quite the haul.”

Ian scooped up a bunch of envelopes from the top of the dresser. “Gonna be cash in most of these. It’ll give us a start to our nest egg.”

“A what?” Mickey’s mouth was full of toast and the peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth, but he wanted some fucking clarification on what Ian called a nest egg.

“Our nest egg, you know, for our place.”

“Gimme a fucking drink of your coffee.”

Ian stretched over the two dozen fancily wrapped packages to pass him the mug. “I wanna stick around the neighborhood though, like Lip.”

Mickey held up his hand, as the hot coffee burned his fucking tongue and did nothing to clear the toast from his throat.

“Not that I think we could afford to buy a place, even a dump like Lip’s.” He tipped the box of wedding receipts over the trash can then stacked all the envelopes inside. “ _Yet_.”

“Hold up.”

With the coffee cup in one hand and the plate in the other, Mickey tried to get off the bed but his housecoat tangled around his legs and he rolled to the side, nearly spilling the goddamn coffee.

“Course I gotta get a job,” Ian continued, oblivious to Mickey’s predicament. “You hear about this Coronavirus thing? I hope I can still get a job, but Larry has some ideas for me to upgrade and shit.”

“Gimme a fucking hand,” Mickey snapped.

Ian turned toward the bed finally and laughed. “What have you gotten yourself into here.”

“Hardy har har, asshole.” But Ian took the cup and plate from him, and Mickey tugged his goddamn housecoat closed. “I’m getting a fucking headache from all your yammering, Ian, and my ass is on fucking fire.”

Setting the cup and plate on the nightstand, Ian shoved several boxes aside and sat next to Mickey on the bed. “Want some Tylenol?”

“Actually, yeah.”

Ian jumped up. “Be right back.”

While he waited, Mickey crawled to the end of the bed and snatched the box of envelopes off the dresser. He was reclining again when Ian returned with a glass of water and two pills.

“You gonna count our cash,” Ian asked. “I wanna see what we got for gifts.”

“Sure.” He tore into the first envelope. “Oh hey, it’s a card from Mrs. Shevchenko. Shit, and a hundred bucks.”

“Aww,” Ian smiled at him. “What did she say in the card?”

“Just shit about having a good life.”

Ian frowned. “Be more specific, please.”

“Fine, fuck.” Mickey picked up the card, reading in a falsetto voice that he imagined sounded like the old lady. “Congratulations on your wedding day and best wishes for a happy life together.”

Giggling, Ian grabbed one of the pillows and smacked Mickey with it. “That is very nice of her. And I think we’re supposed to send thank yous to everyone.”

“Bullshit.”

“No it’s not. You musta seen that in your wedding magazines.”

“Ignored it.” Mickey stuffed the hundred dollar bill into his housecoat pocket. “I fed those fuckers so they can just be happy with that.”

Ian reached across the bed and removed the hundred from Mickey’s pocket. “Put that in the box, Mickey.”

“No, bitch. I wanna get some smokes and Sandy has this primo weed that’s going fast.” He tried to get the hundred out of Ian’s hand but it was out of his reach, so he ripped into the next envelope instead. “Looky, looky." He pretended to study the inside of the card. "Ian’s old boyfriend says...Best wishes on your future with that hot stud you married.”

“ _What?_ ” Ian snatched the card out of Mickey’s hand and a fifty dollar bill fell onto the bed. “Fuck you, asshole.”

Mickey laughed and tucked the fifty into his pocket, giving Ian the stink eye. “Oh so, Archie Miller isn’t your ex, then? My bad.”

Ian glared at him and Mickey shrugged.

“Sounds like he’s about 90, so…” Mickey shrugged again.

“Remind me why I married you.”

“Apparently it was so you could fuck my asshole into an early grave.”

Ian looked thoughtful then nodded. “Yup.” He picked up a square box wrapped in gold paper with a giant ass bow on top, and squinted at the tiny name card. “Larry and family. That’s so nice.”

“ _Mhm_ , so sweet,” Mickey mocked. “You and Laura Ingalls can do each other's hair.”

Ian looked up from the wrapped box he’d started to tear into. “Who?”

“Jesus, half the time I gotta explain this shit to you. She was that chick who lived on the prairie in the shittiest looking house I ever seen.”

“Oh her.” Ian continued his unwrapping. “How do you know about her house?”

“When you gotta watch TV with nothing but rabbit ears, that’s the shit they force us poor bastards to watch,” he explained. “Probably cause we felt grateful that our house wasn’t a piece of shit like hers.”

Ian nodded vaguely. “Oh, a waffle iron.”

“Nice. You can put that to use while I nap in a bit.”

“Yes, dear.” Ian set the iron down and moved onto the next present. “Something from Fi.”

Mickey paused ripping into an envelope to watch the unveiling. “She said I can’t use whatever’s in there as a weapon, which I may or may not obey. She’s not my fucking Parole Officer and you can tell her that.”

“It’s an actual iron,” Ian said, flipping the box over in confusion then tossing it next to the waffle maker and waiting for an explanation.

Mickey smiled. “Inside joke.”

“I wanna know!”

“Nope.”

“Miiiickey.” Hands on hips, Ian got a nice pout going.

“It’ll cost ya.”

“Cost me what?”

Mickey pulled the fifty from his pocket. “This.”

“Fuck off. That’s our nest egg.”

“ _Pfft_ , we’re not fucking birds,” he snorted, eyebrows on full display. “‘Sides, we got a fucking nest. Fuck do we want a new one for.”

“Gimme that fifty, right now.”

“Bite me, bitch.” To prove his point, Mickey shoved the cash under his ass, yelping when he chaffed himself. The movement had also spread open his housecoat, putting his dick on display and Ian’s eyes dropped to it. “Or if you prefer, suck my dick, bitch.”

“It’ll cost ya.”

Their eyes met.

“Touche, motherfucker.”

“Imagine what I can do for fifty bucks,” Ian purred.

Mickey licked his lips, and they both looked down at his dick as it filled. “How about whatever you were planning to do to me for fifty, I do to you for twenty?”

“I don’t have twenty,” Ian whined. “Don’t have a fucking job yet.”

“Write me an IOU then.”

“Or,” Ian said, shoving aside the gifts and setting the box of envelopes on the nightstand. “We do a trade.”

“Kay, but my asshole’s off limits.”

“I could rub some ointment on it,” Ian snickered.

“Yeah, yeah, get the ointment.” He shoved at Ian’s chest. “And ointment better not be code for lube.”

Backing toward the door, Ian looked serious. “Course it’s not. I’m sorry we fucked so many times. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

“Sure thing, gonna get me a chastity belt?” Mickey spread his legs a little more, in part to tease the redhead and in part cause it felt good. “You got no fucking control, man.”

“I do too.”

“Yeah, okay, get the fucking ointment and we’ll put that world famous Ian Gallagher self-control to the test.”

Ian reached behind himself for the door handle, eyes still on Mickey as he tugged the door open.

“Uncle EEEEan!”

Mickey grabbed the waffle iron, holding it in front of his groin.

“Frannie!” Ian pushed her back out the door then looked back at Mickey. “Six fucking months and we’re outta here. Start our fucking lives.”

Ignoring him, Mickey tossed the iron aside and gave his housecoat a yank to properly cover himself before he wound up on pedophile row with the other losers around here. The movement uncovered the fifty dollar bill he’d stuffed under his ass, and he reached toward the nightstand for Mrs. Shevchenko’s envelope and the pen next to the box.

_IOU $50._

*****

“MICKEY!”

“Christallmighty,” Mickey moaned and stuffed his head under the pillow to drown out not only Gallagher’s annoying fucking shouts but also the blinding pain between his eyes from god knows what combination of booze and weed.

“Mick! Oh good, I found you.”

“You bet, Sherlock,” he mumbled into the goddamn hemp sheets covering the sagging mattress. “My trail was just about to go cold.”

The bed jostled and so did Mickey’s guts, then Ian’s warm fingers fanned over his lower back and Mickey forgave him all his sins.

“Rub it.”

“It?”

“My back.”

The bed jostled again and both Ian’s hands splayed over his skin, making Mickey moan in relief.

“Mm, harder.”

A third time the bed jostled and Ian’s weight pressed into his ass, and his knees tucked into Mickey’s ribcage. Then he really dug into Mickey’s back muscles.

“Shit, what’d I do to deserve this?”

Ian paused to lay a kiss on Mickey’s shoulder blade. “I got shitty news and wanted to make you feel good first.”

“Whatever it is, you can tell me next year sometime, no need to rush.”

Kneading the bunched up shoulder muscles for a few minutes, Ian stayed silent as long as he could. “Larry’s sick.”

“Ya wanna make him some chicken noodle fucking soup?”

“With Corona, Mick.”

“Oh, fuck.” He tossed the pillow off his head. “Guy’s old.”

“Well, like, maybe in his forties or something.”

“Old enough.”

“Whatever, anyway,” Ian’s hands dug into a tense muscle and Mickey yelped, “we got a new PO, some hard ass whose name I forget.”

“Swell.”

“Yeah, so my plan to upgrade and get a medic related job is now fucked.”

Mickey sighed and pushed up to his elbows so he could turn over. “Fuck my head, man.”

Rising to his knees to give Mickey room to move, Ian tsked. “No shit, your head is fucked. You been blitzed three nights in a row. Trying to kill yourself?”

“I got an active social life.” He flopped back to the bed, squinting his eyes against the goddamn sun. “It’s tradition to drink your face off when your brother gets outta the clink. Hadn’t seen Iggy in for-fucking-ever.”

“Is it also customary to smoke half of Kev’s new strain of weed?” Ian bent forward to rest his hands on either side of Mickey’s head. “Who paid for that shit anyway?”

“So you barge in here while I’m sleeping and start busting my balls over every single thing that enters your big red head?”

Ian’s face softened and Mickey subdued his guilt reflex. “Sorry. You’re right, not cool. But I am pissed that I’m gonna be stuck at fucking Amazon for who knows how fucking long. I took the overtime this week since Old Army laid you off, figured I better.”

“Shit,” Mickey hissed. “I’m gonna have to get on the job thing if the new PO is a hard ass. Wonder if it’s Erskine. Fucker made Col slit throats at the poultry plant until he ended up running his boss’s fingers through the industrial slicing machine.”

Rubbing a hand down his face, Ian sighed. “Jesus, Mickey, you better not end up there.”

“Right, cause that would _not_ end well for anyone, including the fucking chickens.”

“So where then?”

Mickey massaged Ian’s thighs. “You been working out? Fucking _fiiiine_ looking specimen, Gallagher.”

“No, Mickey, in case you slept through the last three months, I’ve been actually working in a fucking warehouse lifting shit all damn day.” He leaned in a little closer to Mickey. “But yeah, I’m looking pretty fucking good.”

“ _Mhm_ , gimme some of that shit that you’ve been hoarding for the dudes in the warehouse.”

“Mostly women.”

“Good.” Mickey ran his hands over the back of Ian’s head, rolling his hips against his ass, and for good measure, licking his lips.

“But there are a couple of hot dudes there though.” Ian smirked, putting all his weight on Mickey’s erection. “Bending over to pick up heavy boxes all day.”

Mickey narrowed his eyes. “Fuck you on about?”

“I get really sweaty, have to take off my safety vest and pour water over my face to cool down.”

Ian’s face was in Mickey’s neck now, licking a path down his throat and Mickey swallowed against the feel of Ian’s mouth on his skin and the unwanted doubt that lingered just below the surface of it.

“But you come home to me, bitch.”

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/jackieq)


End file.
